


Carville, Louisiana, 1936

by dodge62



Category: Sterek - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-28
Updated: 2014-05-12
Packaged: 2018-01-17 07:51:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1379755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dodge62/pseuds/dodge62





	1. Chapter 1

Derek hadn’t seen him come up. He might’ve sprung up out of the ground he was so unworldly like. Derek’s Granny Sloakum had told him stories about the wood sprites who’d come and take the spoiled, bratty young'uns away. He’d kept awake nights keeping watch so’s in case one of ‘em would come, he’d be ready.

The capt’in had told him to go and chop the grass round the chain-link fence that surrounded the place. Some kinda school or other. He’d kept his head down cuz he was close to the fence and he didn’t wanta bang his blade against it and dull the thing. When he looked up, there he was, watching him. It sent a chill down him, and that’s a fact.

He was of medium height, barefoot, lean and rangy with a turned up nose. But the eyes were brown, almost golden, with a look so intense that Derek was almost sure he wasn’t human.

“What the hell?” Derek started.

The boy smiled at him. “They’s got oranges up at the guard shack if y’all want one.”

Derek had heard about oranges, but he’d never tasted one. He studied the boy and noticed the bulge in his pocket.

“Why don’t you just give me the one in your pocket and save me the time?”

“Oh, y’all wouldn’t want me to do that. If you run and get one we can have a picnic together right here.”

“You must have a tree full up there at your school or whatever it is…”

“We had a whole bowl of ‘em. With almonds, yet. But this is my last one.” The boy glanced around like he wanted to make sure no one was watching them.

“Then why’d you offer?”

“I just thought you’d like one, that’s all. They taste like sunshine if you want to know.”

Derek took off his hat and wiped the sweat off his forehead with a shirtsleeve. The boy watched him with interest, though Derek wasn’t sure why.

“Well, split yours with me. Save me running all the way round to that shack.”

The boy grinned at him. “I’d like to, believe me, but we have rules here, ya know?”

“Yeah? What kind of rules?”

“Don’t feed the monkeys!” The boy thought this was hysterical, but instead of laughing out loud his smile just got bigger and he jiggled in place like a rag doll.

“What in the Sam Hill is the matter with you?”

“It were just a joke, that’s all. Don’t be so fussy. What’s your name?”

Derek. What’s yourn?”

“Stiles. They call me Stiles on accounta my real name is kinda hard to say.”

“Say it then and let’s see.”

“Stilinski,” the boy grinned.

“Well, that is a mouthful, I admit. Look, you gonna share that orange or not?”

“Nope.” Stiles grin got bigger and he turned a little red.

“Well then, y’all run up to the shack and bring me back one. I got work to do.”

“Ah, hell, Derek, they won’t let me up there. I ain’t got the run of the place, ya know?”

“No, I don’t know. I don’t even know what this place is.”

“Well, what’re y'all doing here then, anyway?”

“Workin’. What’s it look like? Darn fool question, if you ask me.”

Stiles sighed loudly in exasperation. “Touchy as hell, ain’t ya? Ok, why y’all workin’ here. Try that one on.”

“Cuz this’s where they assigned me. Don’t you know anything?”

“Well, I sure as hell know you’re not very nice.” Stiles turned his back and sagged against the fence. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked back up the hill at a cluster of neat buildings. “I saw you,” he said, nodding towards the buildings, "From up there. Y’all looked tired and sweaty, and I just thought you’d like an orange, that’s all. Jesus wept! You’d think I’d asked ya to roll in honey and dance in fire ants!”

Derek thought that maybe the boy was crying, which he couldn’t figure out at all. But he did know he was probably to blame. He was touchy, he knew that and he always regretted it.

“Okay, okay. Don’t go all no trumps and coronaries on me.”

The boy spun around. “What’s that mean? No trumps and coronaries? I ain’t never heard that one before.” He pulled up his t-shirt to wipe his eyes showing a tight belly and golden skin. A slim black trail of fine soft hair traveled from his navel and disappeared behind the waistband of the old corduroys he was wearing. Derek turned his head away, worried that the boy would catch him looking.

“It just means don’t go getting’ all emotional and the like. My papa use to say it to my ma when she’d get on him for being down to N’Orleans all night.

“You on a chain gang, Derek?”

Derek bent down and fishing around in the tall grass pulled up a thick, black chain shackled to each of his ankles. “I guess I am.”

The boy’s grin was back and he hung onto the fence like this news was enough to make him swoon.

“Did ya kill a man?”

“Did I what?”

“Kill a man. I can’t make it any plainer.”

Derek threw his head back and laughed at this. Stiles grin got bigger, but Derek could tell he wasn’t quite sure what he was grinning at. He was just happy that he’d made the man laugh so hard.

“No…” Derek said shaking his head, picking stalks of long grass off the blade of his sickle. “No, I don’t think you could. Well, to answer your question, I didn’t kill anybody. Or even rob a bank. No, I just picked up a wallet is all.”

A wallet? You mean, like off the street?”

“Well, no. It was still in the man’s pocket and that’s what they objected to.”

Sties caught the jiggling fits again and gently bounced in place for a while. When he’d stopped, Derek went on.

“So for the next six months I gotta get carted around here and there doin’ odd jobs until, I don’t know, I’m rehabilitated or something like that. At least I'm what they call a trustee so get assigned jobs on my own. That means they trust me, I guess."

"Yeah, that there chain makes that obvious!" The boy sniggered, but a look from Derek straightened him out.

Alright, that's enough. What about you? What is this place?’

“It’s for the secret people.”

“Secret people? What’re those?”

Stiles just looked back up toward the hill and then looked back at Derek. He face was flushed and that brought out his color even more. His eyes seemed larger than before, brown flecked with golden. Derek found himself wondering again if the boy was real and he wasn’t sure if just for a moment Stiles ears came to a point.

“Y'all gonna be here tomorrow?” Stiles asked, almost running back up the hill ahead of the question.

“I guess. I gotta chop this long grass all the way around the place. You come visit me again?”

“Yup. But I gotta go now.”

Without anything further, Stiles walked back up the hill. Watching him go, Derek couldn’t help thinking that the boy sure did know how to fill out a pair of pants. He watched him ‘til he reached the crest of the hill where he paused and then looked back. Derek felt something of a shock go through him and he found himself waving, though that hadn’t been his intention.

Stiles waved back, an exaggerated gesture, full of joy and excitement, then he disappeared behind one of the buildings.

Derek went back to chopping the grass, shaking his head at the strange encounter.

“Never did get my orange,” he thought.


	2. Chapter 2

It was hot the next morning. Hot and humid like a wet blanket tossed over your head and you drag it around all day.

The truck dropped Derek off where he’d stopped working the day before. Shade trees surrounded the place. The sun filtered through the leafy branches and heavy, pollen-laden air leaving misty streaks between the clusters of oak and chestnut.

Derek pulled off his jacket and shirt. He folded them neatly and set them on the grass. It was when he stood up that he saw it, a canvas sack tied to the fence. He immediately thought of Stiles. He felt through the canvas, somethings round and heavy with loose pieces at the bottom.

He untied the sack, grinnin’ from ear to ear. There were two oranges, a handful of almonds and three pieces of peppermint stick candy. His first impulse was to sit down and enjoy the gift, something to offset the grits he’d had for breakfast. But then he figured he’d wait and see if Stiles showed up and if he did, why, they’d maybe set for a spell and he’d share his feast with the secretive boy.

“You gonna eat ‘em or not?’

The question made him jump and he looked up to find Stiles perched on a long tree branch that grew out over the fence.

“What in the Sam Hill are you doing up there?” Derek felt a jolt at the sight of him. Stretched along the branch, he looked longer than he was, slim and sleek. He wore a pair of faded overalls, but only one strap had been brought over his shoulder and buttoned. The bulkiness of the worn fabric emphasized the boy’s leanness. The sagging front flap left Derek with a tantalizing glimpse of nipple.

“I wuz waitin’ for you. What do ya think?”

Derek held up the oranges. “Want to share?”

Stiles grinned lazily and then stretched like a cat. “Sure,” was all he said. And then, “Wait there.”

He slid back down the branch and walked a ways down the fence line before disappearing into a wild bunch of kudzu. A minute later he was strolling along outside of the fence, hands in his pockets, the easy, lazy rhythm of his walk spare and efficient.

“How’d you…”

“There’s a hole, silly. What else?”

Derek wondered if that wood sprite hadn’t come for him after all. Maybe he’d just been bidding his time.

“Is that allowed?” Derek wondered.

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” Stiles looked up at him slyly. The boy was positively devilish.

He held out his hand, an easy smile on his face. Derek tossed one of the oranges in the air. Stiles caught it and brought it to his lips in one easy motion. He stared at Derek while he ran his teeth over the fruit’s pungent skin.

“How far can you walk in them things?” Stiles motioned at the chain running between Derek’s ankles.

“Well, I ain’t gonna win any races. How far did you have in mind?”

“Just down to the river. A hundred paces maybe?”

“Sure. Lets go.”

He followed Stiles down a path nearly overgrown with iris, magnolia and pitcher plant. After about 50 yards the path broke into open lawn, the grass lush and damp with morning dew. It led the two young men gently down to the still water of a sizeable eddy, protected from the river by rocks and large patches of water lily.

Without a word, Stiles lowered himself onto a patch of grass under the shade of a large willow tree. The willow branches extended out over the water where some enterprising visitor had tied a long rope so people could take the plunge on a hot summer’s day.

Stiles bit into his orange and tore away enough of the skin to gain a purchase. Within a minute or two his lap was littered with scraps of orange peel. He carefully separated the orange into segments and set them on his legs.

Derek watched him and carefully mimicked his actions. Finally he bit into one particularly fat, juicy segment and he laughed as the juice ran down his chin.

“That’s about the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted,” he said licking his fingers. He laughed again at the wonder of it all. “Thanks for this. It’s appreciated.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

“So how much longer you gonna be in that school?”

“It’s not a school, Derek. The name of it is US Marine Hospital Number 66.”

“That’s complicated. You don’t seem old enough to have been a marine.”

“Oh, that’s just what they calls it. Who knows where the name came from. You got any family?”

“Sure. My momma and my Granny Sloakum. Papa died when I was 11. It was hard, but we made our way.”

Stiles grinned at him, that devilish grin that set off butterflies in Derek’s belly. “I know. Borrowin’ wallets from passersby.”

“Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time. I don’t think I’ll be trying that again. What about you?”

“I got my momma and papa. Papa came into a lot of money when his daddy died. But he doesn’t know what to do with it, so he just drinks himself silly until momma can’t take it anymore. Then she ties him to an old ironing board so he don’t hurt himself and sets him out on the back porch until he calms down. Mamma’s a big woman if you wuz wonderin’.”

Derek had a good laugh over that. He swept away the orange peel and cracked open some almonds. He held them out for Stiles to share. The boy reached for one, but then paused and pulled back before shaking his head.

“How often does your family come and visit?” Derek asked. It was a simple question, asked more out of politeness than to get information.

Stiles smiled at him and then uncoiled himself up off the grass. “Never,” was all he said. “You gonna be mad if I take a dip without you?” he worried over his shoulder.

Derek played absent-mindedly with the chain keeping him from enjoying the water along with Stiles. “One of us might as well get cooled off.”

Stiles only nodded and walked out of his overalls on his way to the tree. His legs were more muscular than Derek would have thought. Dark hair peppered his calves, but it petered out as it made its way up past the knee and disappeared all together before reaching his simple white cotton boxers. Otherwise he was lean and smooth as Derek had imagined.

Stiles slipped his foot into a loop tied at the end of the rope then pushed off the bank. It wasn’t a spectacular arc, but it did swing him out over the middle of the eddy where he let himself go and dropped into the water with nary a splash. After a moment his sleek, smooth head bobbed to the surface and with strong, accomplished strokes he swam back to shore.

Coming up out of the water, his shorts had become nearly transparent and Derek knew immediately what he’d look like naked. The sight of him sent an electric shock through him and sweat broke out on his forehead and down his back. Desire overwhelmed him and he felt slightly sick.

He’d had these feelings before and he’d cursed himself as a sinner. But that was when he was still a teen-ager. Now older and because he came from a rugged family that taught him self-reliance and confidence, he was more apt to question the fevered preachers who’d condemn him. Still, he had no way of knowing what Stiles thought about such things.

The boy shook himself damp and then picked up his overalls and walked back to Derek where he stretched out in the sun and folded his sinewy arms behind his head. Derek couldn’t help staring at him. It seemed like everything he’d ever dreamt of in a man had been rolled into the boy lounging on the grass in front of him.

“You got a couple dry patches on your thigh, Stiles. You should rub some some lotion on ‘em.”

Stiles opened one eye and shaded his face with a long, elegant hand. He looked at Derek for a long time before rolling over on his side and propping his head up on a slightly wrinkled palm.

“Y’all like me, don’t you Derek?”

“Sure I do. ‘Specially if you feed me oranges and peppermint candy.”

He thought Stiles would smile at this, but he remained serious. “I mean really like me. Enough to want to spend time with me. Maybe even a whole life?”

“You don’t waste much time, do you? Am I that easy to read?”

“Mmmm. Not in the way you think. It’s more like you give off a feeling. Like a shock that goes straight through me. But if you do feel that way, there are some things you should know…”

“What are you doing out here, Stiles?” The man was tall and lean with a graying, bushy mustache that covered his upper lip. He cradled a shotgun in the crook of his arm, though the barrel was broken at the stock and his stance was easy enough. A large floppy hat kept the sun off his face.

“Giving you something to do, I guess,” Stiles answered him, not sharply, but the way a spoiled boy might talk back to a teacher or a nanny.

“Y’all get back up to the dormitories. You know better than this. Who are you?”

This last part was directed at Derek.

“I’ve been chopping the long grass outside the fence,” he said as matter-as-factly as he could.

“From the chain gang?”

Derek only nodded.

“Well, y’all get back to it. Come on, Stiles. Get your clothes on for chrissake!”

Stiles eased back into his overalls and started back up the path toward the fence.

“Did he touch you at all?" The man surveyed the scattered orange peels laying on the grass. "Did you take anything from his bare hand? Where'd them oranges come from?” the man asked, intently enough to make Derek uncomfortable.

Derek started to answer, but Stiles cut him off.

“Don’t be silly, Oscar. I had George tie 'em up on the fence last night for Derek. I’m only bored, not stupid.”

“Okay, okay. But you know the rules. I won’t say anything about this, this time. But don’t let me catch you out here again.

Stiles waved at Derek and, without a word, trudged back up the path to the fence.

“What the hell is this all about?” Derek asked the man, coming up to face him.

“Y’all just mind your own business and get back to work. That boy’s one of the secret people and the less you know about them, the better it is for everyone.”


	3. Chapter 3

The summer continued hot and sultry, the air so thick you could cut it with a knife. Branches drooped, birds wheezed and the damp ground beneath the gnarled, old trees grew dank and musty.

Derek hadn’t see Stiles for three days. Try as he might, he couldn’t chop at the grass any slower than he already was. Maybe the boy had disappeared forever. Maybe he’d never existed at all. The secret people danced in his head. He’d asked other inmates, but no one knew anymore than he did. Finally, one of the guards had cautioned him, told him to shut up and mind his own business.

The afternoon of the fourth day promised rain. The air was thicker than it had been all week and the dark gray clouds hung down close to the ground, rumbling and flashing lightening.

Derek had expected the truck to be along any time when a man on a horse had ridden by and told him the truck was busted down and to just be patient. He sat down under one of the looming chestnut trees and when the rain started, pelting the soft ground with huge drops, he stayed relatively safe and dry.

He was poking twigs in the ground wondering what could be taking so long to fix a damn truck. They could have pushed it by quicker at this rate. He thought about dinner, probably red beans and rice again, and remembered that he was suppose to turn in his top sheet in the morning.

“Derek?”

He couldn’t be sure that he’d heard. He stopped his musings and looked around. The rain was getting heavier and the thunder practically shook the leaves offin the trees.

“Derek!”

Now he was on his feet. He was sure he had heard it this time. The boy’s melodious voice always sent shivers up his spine. Some bushes rustled next to the fence and a moment later Stiles was standing in the rain, the water making erratic rivulets down his smooth, pale skin.

‘You should’ve at least put some shoes on,” Derek scolded. The boy’s toes left indents in the soft, red mud.

“I had to get out of the place while I could. The roof leaks something terrible in one of the dorms so they’re all scurryin’ around like Noah sprung a leak. I couldn’t wait to see ya.”

Those words made Derek’s belly do somersaults.

“Me, too, iffin ya want to know. Why’d ya wait so long?”

“They got all upset ‘bout me being outside the fence. With a stranger. With a fella and me not wearing much. They’re a righteous bunch, I’m here to tell ya.”

“Can’t you come outside the fence today? The truck’s gonna be late. I don’t know how late, but maybe we can set a spell. I’d like to hold your hand for a bit, if ya wouldn’t mind.”

“Nah, I wouldn’t mind at all. But, Derek, y’all need to know more about me. Things are complicated.”

“Oh, Crips! Don’t tell me. The secret people. Is that what all this about?”

“Yes.”

“I want to kiss you. You know that? I want to kiss you so bad.”

“Likewise. But we can’t.”

“Why? Just tell me that. The whole damn state of Louisiana I find the one man I might be able to love. Might’n stop the loneliness and the whole damn sense of uselessness. But I can’t kiss you? Or even hold your hand? Y’all are gonna have to explain that one to me. Real clear, like.”

Stiles rubbed his face in his hands and then wrapped his fingers around the chain link. He took a deep breath and then looked up at Derek through golden eyes that caught the lightening flashes as they streaked around the sullen sky.

“I’m a leper, Derek.”

Derek thought he was joking. He knew lepers. All Christians did. The bible was fill of horrific stories of utterly deformed victims of the disease dragging themselves around the countryside, ringing bells to warn passersby.

“Get out of here,” Derek said quietly. He eyed the boy, so beautiful. So perfect in his eyes. “Where’d you get that?”

“Y’all remember them dry patches on my thigh?”

“Them? That’s leprosy?”

“Not what you were expectin’, huh? Me neither. But we had a doctor’s exam one day at school and they did a test and the next thing I knew, here I was.”

“So the secret people are..."

"Lepers. You can understand why."

"You might have said something before now.” Derek tucked his hands under his arms and stared at the boy like he’d suddenly turned into a toad.

“I know and I’m sorry. But I saw you and somehow I just thought you’d be different.”

“Different how?”

“Like you wouldn’t revile me.”

“Well, it isn’t exactly let’s cuddle up in front of the fire now, is it? You should have warned me before…”

Stiles looked up at him, his eyes bright and slightly almond-shaped. Through the rain and the lowering light that made the lightening flashes seem brighter than they might have been, he stared longingly at Derek.

“Before what?”

“Well, before I came to like ya so much.”

Derek ran his toe around the leaves and the mud and realized how much he was going to miss Stiles.

“We can still be friends, can’t we? I mean, we can still talk to one another? Can’t we?”

The pitch of Stiles’ voice rose sharply and Derek realized that he was close to panic. Still, he couldn’t bear the thought of watching him slowly rot into something he wouldn’t recognize.

“You think I want to sit around and watch? How do you think I could do that?”

“I just thought… I’m sorry, ok? I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I just wanted a friend. That’s all. I just wanted…”

“What?”

“Someone I could dream of, at least. Someone who wouldn’t hate me, because it ain’t my fault. I just wanted someone who might hold me for a spell.”

Stiles was sobbing now. He hung on the fence like a limp animal, his face contorted by his sobs. His rattling body was starkly outlined by the lightening flashes and the thunder blotted out his cries as he violently shook the fence in his anger and his fear.

“I’m holding you,” Derek said suddenly.

Stiles wasn’t sure he'd heard him over the thunder and the dreching rain.

“What?”

“I am holding you,” Derek repeated. “Right now.” He stared at the ruined boy and willed his touch around him.

“What are you…?”

“Listen to me! Concentrate! I’m holding you. Right now. I can feel my hands on your back. I can feel me face burrowed in you neck. I can smell the rain in your hair and the scent of the soap y’all used this morning.”

“I…”

“Feel me, damnit! I’m holding you with all my might.” Very slowly, Derek’s arms drew up and to anybody watching him it would have been clear that he was holding someone in his arms, though they couldn’t be seen.

Stiles looked up at Derek and held his gaze. He made an effort to relax and suddenly a broad smile lit up his face.

“I can feel you, Derek. I can feel your arms! Oh, Jesus, hold me tight, baby. Hold me like I’m your life…”

“I’m standing real close, Stiles. Closer than ever.”

“Oh Jesus, Derek, you are so fine. You feel so good. Run your hand down inside my overalls. Rub your face agin’ me. I love you so much…”

A backfire sounded up the road and Derek started. At the same time Stiles’ felt Derek pull away.

“I have to go. But I’ll be back. Goddamn, I must be insane, but I won’t leave you. Y’all take care of yourself. I promise I’ll be back.”

The truck jerked to a stop and Derek ran and jumped up into the back. As he pulled down the greasy tarpaulin that kept the rain out, he glanced over to the fence line. Stiles had retreated a bit, but was still in plain sight if you knew where to look. Derek winked at him and then the truck jerked to a start and disappeared up the road.

Stiles was sure that he’d never see Derek again.


	4. Chapter 4

The pain at the back of Derek's head was stunning. He slowly opened his eyes and found himself looking at a clean but yellowing linoleum floor. After a moment he realized that he was laying face down on some kind of table. People in soft-soled shoes came and went with quiet efficiency. A pair of black bucks strode into view. He tried to pull himself up, but a firm hand gently eased him back down.

“Not yet. You’ve quite a bump back here…”

The voice was soft, silky and slightly German. It somehow managed to ease his anxiety and give him confidence all at the same time.

“Where am I?” Derek asked.

“You are at the hospital we keep here,” the voice said gently. Derek felt a slight sting at the back of his head, then something cool and wet. The smell of antiseptic drifted down to his nostrils. “Do you remember what happened?”

Derek thought about this. It made his head throb even more, but he wanted the fog to clear.

“A snake,” he finally said.

“Yes? And after that you tripped, possibly?”

He remembered his feet getting tangled around a clump of rocks and kudzu, and then losing his balance. Then nothing.

"Yeah.  I think I did trip.  Fell ass over tail if you want to know the truth."

“One of our patients found you. I think you know him. Stiles?”

The name blew through Derek's addled thoughts like a fresh, cool breeze. He hadn’t seen him for several days and had wondered what on earth had happened to him.

“Stiles found me?”

“Mr. Stilinski finds it difficult to keep still. Not too surprising for a healthy 19 year old.”

“Healthy?”

“Yes. Why does that surprise you?”

“He told me he was a…”

“A leper? Yes, that’s true, but his case is very mild and he is responding well to treatment. So much so that we keep him and a few others like him separate from the general population.”

“But if he’s healthy…”

“Yes, and I’d like to keep him that way. 95% of the population is naturally immune to leprosy. Did you know that?”

“No.”

“Stiles is one of the 5% who is genetically prone to the disease, but in his case only just. Still, he is a carrier and as such contagious."

“You said he was getting treatment?”

“Yes. Something new that is only just available to us. It will make all the difference, I think. This might sting a bit…”

Derek felt a slight tug at the base of his skull and realized that the voice was sewing stiches into his head.

A pair of bare feet suddenly stepped into view.

“Stiles, what have I told you about wearing shoes when you come in here?”

“I couldn’t wait out there anymore. How’s my patient?”

“Your patient? Well, excuse me. I thought he was my patient. But anyway, he will be fine.”

“It looked downright nasty if you asked me.”

“Luckily, no one is asking you. Alright, that should do it.”

Derek started to look up, but the voice told him to wait. By cranking his eyes all the way up he could just catch the bottom of Stiles’ face. He was wearing a surgical mask.

“I’m not going to put a bandage on this…”

“His name is Derek,” Stiles offered.

“Is it? Very well, Derek, you lie here quietly for a bit. Stiles, you go back to your room.”

“But…”

“No buts. How you manage to have the run of the place astounds me sometimes. It must be that angelic face of yours.”

“But, Doc…”

“Go! If you take a thorough shower, take your medication, put on a pair of shoes AND socks then maybe you can come and see Derek before he leaves.”

“SOCKS!”

“Go on. No arguments.”

The long, slender feet reluctantly padded away.

“Alright, Derek. You can sit up now, but do so slowly. Understand?”

Derek pushed himself up into a sitting position. There was slight dizziness, but then it passed. The throbbing continued.

“Try to keep it dry, if you can. If the pain becomes intense, come and see me immediately or see the prison doctor.”

Derek looked up and focused on a kindly face, about 40 years old, with a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles balanced on the end of a long nose and a fringe of barely tamed, graying hair.

“I can keep you here if you like. The guards won’t care. One less problem for them.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, sure. There may be a concussion... or the snake bit you... so, I want to not move you and keep you for observation.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because of Stiles.”

“What's he got to do with anything?”

“It’s hard to keep secrets among the secret people… a ridiculous name, unless you spend time with the more serious cases. Then you understand. Anyway, you have been spending time with Stiles, on both sides of the fence, for some days. Yes?"

“Yeah, you got that right. Will Stiles ever get deformed like you see in library books?"

“You have been doing some research on your friend, yes? I seriously doubt it. He has feeling in both his hands and his feet, which is where the problems usually start. But, Derek, he may never be able to live a normal life.”

“You said his treatment was going well, didn't you?”

“Yes. But treatment is not a cure. The disease is transmitted by saliva or by droplets from the nose, such as a sneeze or a cough. For these reasons you may never be able to be intimate with him or even in sustained close proximity.”

“Intimate?”

“Don’t look so surprised. I’m neither stupid nor a bigot. In Germany, before Hitler came to power, homosexuals were quite well integrated into society. Am I wrong?”

“I don’t suppose so.”

“He's a good boy and he loves you very much, you know that?”

“No. I mean, I wondered…”

“But, Derek, you understand that life with him could be very difficult.”

“Can I touch him?”

“Yes as long as you don't have any cuts on your hands. But not much else, at least for now. There is a very good chance that you will never catch the disease from him, but you can never be 100% certain of that.”

“And there’s no cure?”

“Not yet. But there will be in 10 or 15 years.  For now, the disease is manageable, at least. Meaning that I don't believe Stiles condition will progress much beyond the symptoms he has now.”

“Are you…?”

“No.” The man smiled at him. “But I have been working closely with the patients here for six years. I have a wife and children and I don’t worry too much. Still, we are all tested every 6 months.”

"So, I could get tested? I mean..."

"Yes. But I want you to think about what you're saying.  Are you really prepared to take the risk?"

Derek didn’t say anything. He found himself suddenly wondering how much Stiles really meant to him. He thought about just walking away, but then he remembered the look on Stiles’ face when he glanced out at him from the truck. The devastation was complete and it nearly broke his heart.

"I ain't never met anybody like him."

“My point is this. If you are not completely serious about dealing with the difficulties he will face, perhaps for the rest of his life, then leave now and don’t come back. He has been abandoned by his family and his friends, all because of the overblown stigma around the disease. You won’t be doing him any favors by trying to break it off slowly.”

“And if I do… I mean, if I really do...”

“Love him?”

Derek only nodded.

“Then you must reconcile yourself to remaining... erm, keusch is the German.  This is, ah, chaste? Or celibate? You must not have sex is what I'm trying to say. At least for now, possibly forever. Either that, or risk getting the disease yourself.”

“Will he have to stay here?”

“Yes. For now. But, you know, he is allowed a day pass whenever he wants one, but he never submits an application.”

“Why in hell not?”

“Because he never had a reason to. And I think it’s more exciting for him to sneak out. So, shall I go and tell the nurse to admit you or would you rather return to the prison?”

“I want to stay with him,” Derek answered, looking the man straight in the eye. He hoped his earnestness showed through his apprehension.

The doctor smiled at him and left in a swirl of white coat and frizzy hair.


	5. Chapter 5

Thunderstorms aren’t unusual in the South during the long, humid summer months. But once and a while the heavens conspire to create something more than an afternoon’s diversion. The hot air rises and slams into the cooler air riding above the humidity. Clouds form and begin to swirl, winds pick up and before you know it, you have a first class storm on your hands.

Derek had been given one of the private rooms kept in case of emergency. Visitors weren’t a common occurrence at the hospital, given its purpose, but there were situations that required that a complete medical facility be kept, separate from the ones used to treat the live-in patients.

Road accidents were one. Personal injury of the type Derek suffered was another. The rooms weren’t spacious, but they were enough to keep their occupants comfortable, housing a bed, side table, wash-stand and… in this one particular instance, a very nice radio loaned to him by the fuzzy-haired doctor.

Derek lay staring at the ceiling, the throbbing in his head enough to keep him awake, even if he hadn’t been thinking about Stiles. To distract himself, he counted the seconds between lightening flashes and thunderclaps, a rudimentary way to tell how many miles you were from the center of a storm. For nearly half and hour he hadn’t gotten more than a breath above the number ‘1’.

Waves of rain rose and fell while brilliant lightening streaks lit up the room. These were followed by terrific crashes of thunder that he thought would bring the building down. From time to time he’d let his eyes wander around the strange surroundings. The shadows of the raindrops tumbling down the windows cast on the far wall, the cracked paint near the baseboard along one wall, the complicated hanging apparatus above his bed for patients requiring traction.

He rolled over and switched on the radio, turning the sound low. “Blue Moon” was playing and its soft, slow and jazzy rhythms eased his jangled nerves and took him out of himself and his strange predicament.

Another lightening flash starkly outlined the traction cage over his bed. The peal of thunder that followed immediately after rattled the windows in their casings. The rain pelted down harder than ever.

Another flash. They were coming one right after another now, the light and noise getting all jumbled up. The radio went to static and another flash raced around the room, increasing the buzz to where Derek thought the thing was going to explode.

He switched it off then rolled back into the bed just as another flash lit up the room. Suddenly Stiles was there.

“Holy fuck!” Derek started. It looked to him like the boy had ridden in on a lightening bolt.

“Well, that’s the nicest greeting I’ve ever received, so help me. You kiss your mama with that mouth?”

The storm was easing now. Stiles’ outline settled down and Derek started to see him clear and stark by the wan illumination of the perimeter lights that lined the hospital grounds every fifty paces or so.

“Sometimes… Gosh, it’s good to see you!”

“Didn’t seem so a minute ago,” Stiles said, moving around the bed. He was dressed in his overalls, the flap only half buttoned, exposing that luscious nipple that caught Derek’s gaze and held it in place like something supernatural.

“Well, for cryin’ out loud! You were suddenly standing there like you just grew up out of the floor…”

“I was hiding under the bed.”

“You were… what?”

“Oh, I’m teasing you and you know it.”

Derek wasn’t so sure. He wondered again if the boy wasn’t from ‘the other side’ as his Gram would say.

“Yeah, I knowd that. It is good to see you.”

“Thanks. Same here. I guess you and Doc had a talk?”

“Maybe.”

“Oh, that’s cute. That’s rich, all right. You should be on the radio…”

Stiles reached over and switched the box back on. With the storm easing, the music broke through, “Stormy Weather’ this time and that made Stiles smile.

“Well, that’s appropriate,” was all he said.

“The doctor said I could touch you,” Derek said quietly.

“Is that a fact?” Stiles said, moving a bit closer and taking Derek’s hand in his. His smile grew wider. 

“So strong,” he said, his voice breaking a bit. “I never knew it would be so strong… Oh, Jesus, you feel good to me!”

Derek let his other hand move up Stiles lower arm, the muscles sinewy and coiled under silky skin.

“I can never get over how smooth your skin is.”

“How’s your head, by the way?” Stiles wondered all at once.

“It hurts, just not as bad as this morning,” Derek said, a bit taken aback.

“You love me, Derek?”

The question was asked so suddenly that even though it was matter-of-fact, it still took Derek by surprise.

“To be honest, I was laying here thinking about that very thing.”

“Yeah? Got an answer for me?”

“Well, all’s I know right now is that I want to love you. I’m just…”

“Scared.”

“A bit. Doc says we might never be able to make love.”

“That’s true, at least not in the normal way. But, well…”

Stiles stepped back and undid the button holding up his overalls. They slid to the ground and he stepped out of them and without much delay slid his white boxers down and stepped out of them as well.

Derek was stunned at the sight of him. He was lean and well-defined, with a thick cock nestled in a bush of jet black.

“If this is suppose to make me say yes, you might be on to something.” Derek was grinning from ear to ear.

“Maybe we can figure out somthin’. You wearing anything under that sheet?”

Derek rolled down the starched, white cover, his stomach muscles flexing as he did. Then he laid back down, his thick, muscular body uncovered down to his feet.

“That’s a sight, I gotta say," Stiles was talkin' like he was in a church. "You always sleep naked?”

“No. It’s just that…”

“You’d hoped I’d come?”

“Yeah.”

“You want to touch me?” Stiles didn’t move. He stood stock still like his life depended on it. And maybe it did.

Derek looked at him and wondered what he was going to do. Then he made up his mind and decided on his destiny.

“Put them back on, Stiles,” was all he said.

“What? Why? We’re all alone. You ain’t gotta worry…”

“Just put’em back on, baby. This ain’t the place.”

“What…”

Derek leaned forward, grabbed the sheet and pulled it back over him.

“You’re about the sweetest thing I’ve ever met, but I don’t wanna make love with you the first time in this place.”

Stiles was hitching up his overalls, his face a study is embarrassment and disaster.

“Well, where then?”

“Listen to me. Listen...”Derek reached over and took Stiles hand again. He laid it on top of the sheet and looked at the boy, falling into those bright brown eyes, though he didn’t want to.

“I get out in two weeks,” he told him. “We have a little place out in the woods for when we go huntin'. Ya’ll get yourself one of them day passes and lets go spend a while together.”

“Y’all mean it?” Stiles could barely contain himself.

“I wouldn’t a said it if I didn’t,” Derek said, pulling the boy closer.

“How… Will… Do ya think…?”

“I don’t know, Stiles. I love ya. I want to be with ya. Let’s see how we do. Just be patient.”

Stiles leaned over and kissed Derek’s chest through the sheet. He looked up into Derek’s dark eyes and smiled.

“I guess that’s about as passionate as I can be for now, without being positively antiseptic!”

Derek grinned at him, then kissed his own fingers and applied them smartly to Stiles’ cheek.

“I love you,” was all he said.

“Yeah,” Stiles said quietly, feeling the place where Derek's fingers kissed him. “Same here. Like my life.”


	6. Chapter 6

Granny Sloakum was a tired old girl but she kept up appearances as best she could. She wasn’t really Derek’s grandma. She had worked for Derek’s family and had lost her husband about the same time as Derek lost his daddy. Times were hard then, to say the least, and the two women left alone with a rough and tumble 11 year old boy had decided to move in together and pool what they had.

Two widows sharing the same place wasn’t unusual, but a few of the neighbors clicked their tongues that one of them women was black. Still, black grannies had been raising white boys since long before the British had been thrown out by Georgie Washington and again by Andy Jackson. So they kept their heads high and went about their business.

Now Derek was off the road gang and he could smell his Gram’s red beans and rice down toward the end of the block. She was stirring the pot when he walked in and the sight of him lit up her wrinkled old face like night to day. 

She run to him and hugged him hard by the neck then lightly flicked him up the side of the head.

“Why’d you that?” He smiled at her, remembering the game.

“Cuz I wanted a lump ‘o sugar!” She kissed him again and then stood back and looked at him. “About time y’all come home, Derek Hale. I was starting to think y’all liked the chain gang food better’n mine!”

She pulled out a chair for him, took his rucksack from him and set him down. A minute later, a steaming cup of coffee was in front of him.

“I don’t think there was any worry about that,” he said, taking a careful sip. It was sweet, hot and black, just the way he liked it. He looked over the table, at the rolling pin, flour, baking soda and fresh cream.

‘Biscuits!” was all he said, like saying ‘Christmas!’ or ‘Chivaree!’.

“Yup. And I got another surprise for ya…” she picked up her big wooden spoon and stirred around in the pot until she fished out a splendid ham hock, still glistening with a bit of white fat around the knuckle.

“Well, ain’t that something…” He said it with a vacant tone, because he started to understand what the doctor meant about Stiles. He’d been think about how it’d be just perfect if the boy was there beside him, but then he realized that would never happen. Could he risk Stiles eating off their plates or drinking from their cups?” What if some pepper made him sneeze? Or some coffee went down the wrong way and he coughed? Easy, every day things that weren’t so easy now. Would he have to keep Stiles’ utensils separate, like they did for the dog?

He suddenly came back into himself and realized he still had a cup of coffee in his hand. He took another sip, but it was cold and he understood he’d been away with himself for a long time.

“Welcome back,” Granny said, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Where’s momma?” he asked, trying to settle down all the thoughts whirling around inside his head.

“She’s housekeeping for Mrs. Hamilton. The old bitch fell and broke her hip so she’s got money from the state for a housekeeper. Probably only payin’ you momma half what the state pays her. I’d rather step on my own lips than gossip, but that woman is as mean as a junkyard dog. It’s no wonder her husband left her. What’s his name anyways?”

“Huh? Oh, I don’t remember. I always called him Mr. Hamilton…”

She had a good laugh at that one.

“No, no. What’s the name of the lover you wuz thinkin’ so hard about just now.”

She had started to fire up the oven for the biscuits. She laid in some kindling wood and a bit of newspaper, then struck a match. The newsprint caught and after a few minutes the kindling was burning steadily and she closed the oven, and poured herself a cup of coffee.

“Well, that’s a funny thing,” Derek started to say.

“Oh, bullshit. You know that I always know when you gonna lie to me, Derek Hale?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Well, I do cuz you always start off the same way! ‘Funny you should say that’ or ‘funny thing about that’, and off you go, lyin’ like a rug. So why don’t y’all save us both the wear and tear and just tell me the truth.”

“Y’all got any suggestions on where I should start?”

“Yeah. I’ll ask the question again, slow and simple like. What’s his name?”

Derek stared at her for a moment, then got up and poured himself another cup of coffee. He didn’t turn back to the table. Instead he stared at the wall for a moment, then took a big swig of the hot, thick worm dirt.

“Stiles,” he finally said.

“Where’d you meet him?”

“And why are you so dang positive it’s a he?” he asked. The woman always seemed to be one jump ahead of him and it bothered the hell out of him.

“Oh, honey, you think I don’t know my darlin’ boy? I’ve known what you were like since you wuz 6. Boy’s like you have a way about ‘em, that’s all. Don’t mean I love you any less. So, where’d you meet him?”

“Ah… okay, well you might as well know everything. He’s at US Marine Hospital Number 66.” This was the truth but evasive nonetheless. Didn’t do him no good.

She didn’t say anything for quite a while and Derek wondered if she’d heard him. But then she looked up at him like she was studying him.

“You never do anything the easy way, do ya?”

“You…?”

She nodded her head slowly without taking her eyes off him.

‘I’m sorry, Gram. I just love him so!”

“Why are you sorry?”

“I thought maybe I’d let you down.”

She thought about this for a while then got up and checked the oven. She looked at the big, round clock hanging over the stove, stained with years of boiled coffee, fried chicken and spots of red eye gravy.

“You ain’t lettin’ me down, sugar,” she said, starting to measure flour into a large bowl with one bare hand. “We raised you right wuz what we did. If you say you love this boy, then that’s all there is.”

She put a big pinch of baking soda in the flour and then poured in a little cream. She started mixing it all up with one hand while adding in the cream now and then with the other.

“Joanie Lennox. Y’all remember her?”

“Yeah, I do. Kinda. What ever happened to her?”

“She was dating a boy outta Shreveport. He come down with it.”

“He did?” He re-settled himself in his chair, restless and anxious. “What’d she do?”

“What could she do? She loved him, so she found a place down from the hospital. Got a job there. Eventually she come down with it. That’s why you never heard about her no more.”

“Where’s they now?”

“They’s dead. But this was quite a while ago. Thing is, they did what they had to do.”

She eased the dough out of the bowl and onto the table where she sprinkled flour over the top and started to knead it a bit, not too much.

“Does he let you kiss him?” she asked.

“You know he doesn’t.”

She took up her rolling pin and started to roll out the dough.

“So he cares enough about you to keep you safe. You feel the same way about him?”

“I surely do.”

“Well, that’s all there is to it.”

She looked at the dough, satisfied with its size and thickness. She took a metal cutter from its place on the wall and started laying out white, puffy rounds.

“I thought you’d holler at me like there was no tomorrow.”

“Why would I do that? Would it make a difference?”

He thought about that and let out a deep sigh. “No.”

“Listen, Derek. Life’s too short. Love, well, I mean real love, the kinda love where another person’s happiness is all you got, that doesn’t come around too often. So y’all take the good with the bad. My one regret in life is that I didn’t tell enough people to fuck off. Don’t you go down that road.”

She laid the rounds on an old cookie sheet, tested the oven one more time, then slid the sheet inside and closed the door behind them.

“What if I catch it?” he asked, looking at the coffee grounds splayed in the bottom of the cup.

“What if ya do? If not that, cancer or polio or a bullet through the head because some nut-case didn’t like the way you looked at him. Or just plain old age. No, the tragedy here would be if you loved this boy, really loved him, and then just walked away. Now go wash up and we won’t say any more about it.”

He got up, leaned over and kissed her then ambled out to the back porch to wash his face and hands.

Granny stood, bent and wrinkled, and watched him for a while. He was tall and strong, handsome, too. As beautiful a boy as she’d ever seen. She thought about what she’d told him and try though she might, she couldn’t find any way around it without her picking gnat shit outta pepper. You either made your stand, or you ran away and that’s all there wuz.

Derek finished washing and dried his face and hands. He turned to look at her, but her back was to him, taking out their old, beat-up silverware to set the table. She’d turned away from him just in time to catch the first tear as it rolled down her gnarled and wooly cheek.

It was going to be a long, blessed evening.


End file.
